


Life's Work

by valda



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Bondage, Choking, Other, Romance, Symbiote POV, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: It is the mission, and, indeed, the nature, of a Klyntar symbiote to move from host to host. But one symbiote makes a different choice.





	Life's Work

**Author's Note:**

> Two caveats: 1) I haven't actually seen the movie; 2) this is soft. Ridiculously soft. Hope you enjoy anyway!

It is best together. It is right and good, and natural. It is thrilling, also, to become whole again. To know you will live, and how you will live. To learn who you will be.

It’s always different, always new, always surprising. But somehow, this time, it’s even more than that.

It is right and good and natural to move on, to bond again and again and again, using one life up before going to the next. It is the way of things. No one, no Klyntar in all the universe, would ever consider a permanent bond. The idea is heresy. It is not done; it is not thought of or spoken of.

Except sometimes it has been thought of, quietly, outside the hive mind. Would it be possible? Could a host’s life be sustained as long as a symbiote’s? What would it be like, to be together forever? Lifelong security, or at least far more secure than a normal life. No more desperate searching, no more depending on circumstances to provide a suitable next host. No more thrill, either, but would that truly be a sacrifice?

Isn’t it strange—inefficient, even destructive—to become whole over and over again, instead of just becoming whole once?

Until now, the thought has been purely academic. It wasn’t as though it could ever _happen_. Not when there was a natural order, and a mission. Not when the mission was sustaining that natural order.

Until now.

Eddie yawns. His chest arches upward, expanding as his lungs fill, and his arms spread out to either side. It’s a beautiful feeling, Eddie’s body stirring from sleep, prickling and stretching into awareness. The back of Eddie’s hand comes up against the stubble on Eddie’s cheek and jaw; he’s scratching an itch, and it feels delicious—the tactile sensation of scruff on skin and skin on scruff, but also the laziness behind the movement, the sweet, heedless way Eddie moves when he’s half asleep.

“Are you awake?” he mumbles.

**_Yes._ **

“What time is it?”

**_Early._ **

Eddie blinks open his eyes, taking in—or rather, not taking in—the pitch-black room. It is a simple matter to spread to the bedside table, to turn on the light for him.

“Thanks,” Eddie says, slapping half-blindly for his phone. He swipes the screen sloppily, squints at it. “Damn. It _is_ early.”

**_I wouldn’t lie to you, Eddie._ **

Eddie huffs out a sleepy laugh. “I know, sweetheart.”

_Sweetheart_ is new. A warm, nervous sort of flutter escapes into Eddie, who laughs as if tickled.

**_Sweetheart._ **

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says again. “Unless you don’t like that?” He knows; he felt the reaction. There is no need to ask, but he always does anyway.

**_I like it. We like it. Sweetheart._ **

This time it’s Eddie who trembles a bit, and a small smile turns up the corners of his mouth just enough. The smile feels shy and pleased. And he _should_ be pleased. Good. He is pleased; that is pleasing.

**_When do we have to leave?_ ** There is, again, no need to ask, but Eddie likes conversation. And it is nice, nice to form thoughts into statements and questions and to experience Eddie doing the same.

“Not for awhile,” Eddie says. “My alarm won’t even go off for a couple hours. Dunno why I woke up.”

Eddie lapses into silence, and it is comfortable. There’s no particular need to manifest, but it’s nice to do it anyway, nice to emerge from Eddie’s shoulder to form a face, to look at him in the dim light. To press a tongue teasingly against Eddie’s lips, and shove it past when he parts them. Eddie hums and swallows, and the tongue pushes deeper, probing into his throat, making him choke and groan.

Eddie’s skin feels warm all over, warm and tingling with electricity. His body is wonderful, to experience and to manipulate; their bond is deeper than any has ever been before, and it seems impossible that any future bond could ever compare. There is certainly no reason to ever find out.

He sleeps naked now, which just makes sense; he can easily and quickly be covered. To be frank, there is no need for Eddie to ever wear clothes. (Maybe someday he will agree.) The important thing is he is naked now, reproductive member—his _cock_ , he said to call it—rising at the feathery-wet touch of the thin tendrils wrapping around it. **_You’re mine, Eddie._ ** A promise, an affirmation. **_We are one._ **

The thrill of Eddie’s pleasure is intoxicating. It’s everything. This is the mission now—making Eddie’s heart pound, his breath catch. Making him shudder. Making him moan. Making him scream. Making him sob.

Like the abandoned mission, this new mission doesn’t have an end; it is a life’s work. Unlike the abandoned mission, it doesn’t result in destruction, in pain, in long periods of longing and fear.

It results in—

Eddie gasps in a breath around the tongue. His hands flex where they’re held to the bed by sticky black tentacles; more curl around his legs, keeping them spread, while a pair of manifested hands squeeze his pecs and pinch his nipples. There are so many ways to touch Eddie, so many things he likes, and it is always tempting to do them all at once. Another tendril manifests, slides its way down between the cheeks of Eddie’s ass. So many ways to touch him. And—

Eddie bites the tongue, and everything goes white all at once, the surprise and pleasure overwhelming. When sensory input returns, Eddie’s hands are caressing the manifested substance, digging into it—tugging deep rents into malleable flesh, squeezing and molding it as he wishes. It feels—Eddie’s fingers are registering sticky slime and soft flaccidity and a firmness not unlike human muscle, but it is all just foreign enough to be thrilling to him, and it is like rediscovery. Like a new understanding. They share breath—they breathe together. Their bodies are separate, but one. And there’s something building, a rolling throb, pulsing higher and higher, stronger and stronger.

This time when everything goes white it all sparks too, sparks and explodes, and the throbbing is everywhere at once, crashing into Eddie like a wave. And there is sound, too, distant—Eddie’s voice, a broken, overwhelmed cry.

Awareness returns gradually, thoughts slowly. There is a slackness, a grogginess, and it feels as though everything is fuzzy, wrapped in something warm. Like home. Like Eddie.

Eddie is still stroking, lightly, and he’s kissing too, wet lips moving over the substance puddled across his body and the bed. “You okay?” he murmurs, even though he knows the answer.

**_Yes. Are you?_ **

“Yes.”

Smiling can be done even without manifesting a head, and doing that seems like too much work right now, so Eddie feels rather than sees it. Eddie’s heart feels as though it’s swelling, and he smiles too. Everything is even warmer.

Eddie is as close as it is possible to be. Closer than anyone else has ever been, or will ever be. The physical configuration of their bodies doesn’t matter; so long as they’re touching, they are merged. Still, melting back into Eddie is comforting in a way that’s impossible to express.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh; his agreement is obvious. He glides rough hands gently over his own body, a sweet caress that isn’t for himself. Then he hugs his elbows and curls his legs in. It’s the closest, tightest possible embrace.

“I love you,” Eddie says softly, and there’s that sparking explosion again, an echo this time, quieter. There’s a word for this, for what this mission brings that the abandoned mission didn’t: joy.

**_And I love you, Eddie. Forever._ **


End file.
